


Oh, THAT guy.

by lirulin



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempt at Humor, Crack, Gen, Humor, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 01:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirulin/pseuds/lirulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for "The Weirdest Inquisitor Crossover You Can Think Of". Somehow I expect this version of the game would have been much, much shorter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, THAT guy.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always adored Discworld and, despite, or perhaps because of recent events I felt compelled to write this. It's short and silly and I hope you enjoy.

The dungeon was, as dungeons were wont to be, both dark and ominous. It was an impressively oppressive ominousness, perfectly capable of grinding a person down, sieving through them, and picking out all the little bits of hope left in the mix. The darkness, too, was quite an accomplished darkness, as it had to be in order to enrich the looming, dreadful, dungeon-y ambiance. 

This was a manicured sort of darkness. This darkness was nothing as pedestrian as the mere absence of light, oh no, this was a curated darkness, something a great many people had clearly taken quite a lot of time and care to properly maintain. It took considerable effort, after all, to get the perfect balance of grime and disrepair without actually having to deal with the side-effects that came with real grime and disrepair. It was cosmetic, mostly, but that was easily preferable to the alternative. Nobody wanted ants, and rats were rather more hassle to train than they were worth. Wild rats were just right out. (I mean, what would the _neighbors think?_ It would be a disgrace. They would be laughing stocks.) 

The door, a rather solid oak affair with surprisingly well oiled but painstakingly decrepit looking hinges, swung open without preamble and struck the stone wall with a loud, heavy bang. It seemed odd that it didn't creak, but that might've been something that was more fashionable when it came to spooky castles. In any case, he had no idea, doors were simply not his forte, but the sound it made was exceedingly apropos. Nobody every appreciated the acoustics of a dungeon, but this dungeon's acoustics did exceptionally well. They highlighted the impenetrable thickness of the walls and carried just long enough that the sound of boots coming down the stairs carried a lingering threat of pain. All in all, the whole array amplified the severity of whoever was coming through the door quite nicely. 

It was the little details that really made a thing special.

The woman who strode through was precisely the sort of person you'd be expecting in a dungeon this exactingly terrifying. She was tall, dark, well armed, and rather put out. Her associate was less intimidating, overall, but her stance, while polite, said that she was much more likely to be mopping up a prisoner's blood than taking pity on them. It was a subtle choice, insofar as the outward presentation of any given interrogator are concerned, and the overall effect was quite dramatic. It was an especially nice touch when the first woman stalked in a circle around him, glowering with all the force she could muster. It was unfortunate he hadn't been sitting, he was certain her glower would have been best accentuated if she didn't have to crane her neck to look up at him.

"Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now?" Cassandra Pentaghast seethed. He tilted his head slightly, as if to answer, but the question was apparently rhetorical. She continued speaking, almost instantly, and he waited patiently. He could be extraordinarily patient. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead."

She finished her circuit and rounded on him, her hard stare turned directly on his face. Her brow twitched, after a moment, as her eyes fought her brain for control, but the seriousness of her expression maintained without much fuss. 

"Except for _you._ "

A moment passed and it became apparent that she was waiting for an answer. He cleared his throat and, curiously, it sounded like all of the air being drawn out of an ancient tomb...assuming, of course, that the aforementioned sound could also manage to be slightly awkward.

**Tʜᴀᴛ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴇɴᴛɪʀᴇʟʏ ᴄᴏʀʀᴇᴄᴛ.**

Cassandra snapped and lunged forward to grasp his left wrist. A visible shudder ran through her arm as she did, but she seemed more perplexed by the sudden wave of creeping morbidity than anything. To her credit, her grip remained steadfast as she hauled the bony appendage up and held it between them. She glared, through the spaces between his bones and into the fathomless, eternal void that existed behind his empty eye sockets. She shook is hand hard and, when it came free and clattered to the floor, the sound of a great bag of marbles being tossed down down a tin roof rattled around the prison. Even the walls seemed a bit confused by that one, but they resounded nonetheless, because that was what walls did.

"Explain this!" She demanded, shoving his empty wrist toward his skull. Her brain, apparently, had won out over her eyes and ears. She carried on, as people usually did, and completely ignored the fact that his hand was off, also that it had broken into all its pieces and scattered all over the floor, and she certainly didn't notice that he was a seven foot tall, robed skeleton. All of those were impossible, so clearly any combination of them couldn't possibly be true.

 **Tʜᴀᴛ, ᴘᴇʀʜᴀᴘs, ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅɪғғɪᴄᴜʟᴛ.** He added grimly, after a pause. He took a moment and spared a glance at the bits of his hand on the appropriately (but certainly not excessively) grimy stone floor. She waited impatiently. 

**Iᴛ ᴅᴏᴇsɴ'ᴛ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ᴏғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ I ᴡᴇᴀʀ ɢʟᴏᴠᴇs. Tʜᴇʏ ғɪɴᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀɴᴛɪ-ᴄʟɪᴍᴀᴄᴛɪᴄ.**

"Is this a game to you?" Cassandra shouted and surged forward. She tried to grip him by the robes and haul him up. He almost wondered if she'd manage it; the power of her belief was just this side of miraculous, in and of itself. Unfortunately, her hands grasped at nothing, and the solid, shifting midnight of his robes flowed through her fingers like smoke. 

Cassandra stared at her hands, baffled, and her companion moved forward slowly, almost hesitantly, looking dreadfully confused about why she'd done it. Her hand reached out and settled on Cassandra's shoulder but, all in all, she had no idea what she'd come over to say or do. Like someone who'd forgotten where they put down their keys just a moment before, Leliana was at an utter loss. They stood there, confused and frustrated, and both women stared at their respective hands for several seconds.

He wasn't often moved by the troubles of any particular person, but neither of them were on the immediate schedule and, quite honestly, there were very few people who went to the trouble of forcing themselves to have a conversation with him, let alone _interrogating him_. If nothing else, leaving them like this would certainly qualify as bad manners. 

He was an endless plethora of infinite concepts and individual moments, an amalgamation of every last breath and every wilting leaf, the embodiment of a thousand eternities of silence, the very shape of inevitability itself, and many, many other things, but he was certainly not rude. Not if he could help it, anyway.

 **"Lɪғᴇ ɪs ʙᴜᴛ ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ,"** He quoted easily. Nobody ever remembered who'd said it, but someone always did, no matter what universe, planet, dimension, or plane it was. Nine times out of ten, however, it was some smug bastard who'd won far too much money off of a distressed acquaintance, but that was beside the point. **"...Aɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏᴛʜɪɴɢs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴏᴅs."**

He paused a moment, as both women stared up at him, expressions utterly blank, and then added:

**Wᴇʟʟ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.**

Cassandra wrestled her confusion down first and stood up taller as she stared him down...well, technically, stared him _up_. The motion jogged Leliana's memory and the hand on Cassandra's shoulder gripped her hard.

"Cassandra! We need him," she said quickly, as though she'd just stepped in to diffuse the situation, and pushed the other woman away, gently.

Leliana took up the space in front of him and stared, composed and unflinching, directly into the endless depths of his eyes. This was Odd and Death was, honestly, a little perplexed. Unfortunately, it was impossible to tell that he was perplexed given that none of his facial features had the capacity for movement. As such, he simply grinned his frozen, morbid, flesh-less grin at her and waited.

"Do you remember what happened? How all of this began?"

**Yᴇs. Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɪɴ ғᴀᴄᴛ.**

She looked stunned. She'd been hopeful before--(You couldn't go around asking questions as dire as that one without being a bit invested in the answer, ahead of time.)--clearly, though, she hadn't expected him to answer in the positive. She stared and he stared back and they stood there for several seconds before Cassandra's voice boomed through the room. The stones were really doing quite well today; were he alive, the architect would have been smugly satisfied at the dramatic undercurrent his work provided. This would certainly show those uppity iron-smiths who thought their bars were what made it a real dungeon, or it would have, were they not also dead.

"Then what are you waiting for? Tell us what happened at the Conclave!" Cassandra demanded and Death started slightly, and a look of surprise passed over his features...insofar as it was able.

 **Oʜ, ᴡᴇʟʟ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪs ᴀ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀᴀʙʟʏ sʜᴏʀᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ.** He cleared his bony throat, somehow, and tilted his skull back to peer at Leliana. 

**Eᴠᴇʀʏᴏɴᴇ ᴅɪᴇᴅ.**

The sound of frustration Cassandra let out was almost tangible. Even Leliana looked a little pained and impatient. She pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to steel herself, but it was definitely a chore.

"And before they died? What was happening?" Leliana asked, a thread of exasperation in her voice.

**Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ʟᴏᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪɴɢs. Tʜᴇʏ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ, ᴍᴏsᴛʟʏ.**

Both women stifled sounds of irritation and tried to keep as calm as possible. One was doing far better than the other. Cassandra kicked over a barrel that sat, empty, in one of the cells.

"This is getting us nowhere!" Cassandra shouted and the bars clanged unevenly as she slammed a cell door.

"Alright! Now," Leliana lifted her hands to stifle the other woman's complaints and drew a long, deep breath. She exhaled slowly and looked back at him. "Tell me, do you know what caused the explosion?"

**Yᴇs.**

"--And what was it?" she asked, quite hastily, before her associate began tearing out her hair.

 **A ʀᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ɪʀʀɪᴛᴀᴛɪɴɢ ғᴇʟʟᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛs ᴀᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴅs ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇᴛs ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ's ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴄᴋɪɴɢ.** Death sounded grave, as usual, but with a note of personal peevishness. He wasn't often invested in the mistakes mortals made, but _this one_ had made it personal on quite a few occasions. Nobody cheats Death, after all, and he'd managed it, repeatedly, for an embarrassingly impressive span of time. This was to say _nothing_ of how he and his friends tracked corruption all over that other fellow's floors and left the place a blighted mess.

Death's expression darkened, quite literally, and the pinpoints of blue that shone through the abyss in his sockets shined sharply. The dungeon, abruptly and quite awkwardly, gave up all pretense of being ominous and terrifying. There was no use playing at being dark and scary, not while Death himself stood there, reminding it what real darkness and terror were trying to get at. The two women started, nearly jumping, as Death let his bonds fall through him and clatter to the ground. The chains and shackles seemed almost apologetic about the racket they were making; if they could have promised to keep it down in the future, they likely would have.

 **Nᴏᴡ, ɪғ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀs ᴀʟʟ, ʏᴏᴜ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴇɢɪɴ ᴏʀᴄʜᴇsᴛʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ʜɪs ᴅᴇᴍɪsᴇ.** Death extended his wrist and there was a wave of tiny clattering sounds, it was quite like a sock full of dice and skittles being flung down a flight of stairs, but in reverse, and the bones of his hand tumbled back into place. A moment later, a heavy, mostly mundane looking scythe appeared in his grip. **I ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ ɪs sᴋɪʟʟᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴋɪʟʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪɴɢs, I ᴍᴏsᴛʟʏ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀғᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ.**

Leliana balked and stared up at him. She didn't appear to have any trouble with the sight of a towering, angry skeleton holding an inconceivably sharp farm implement. No, her confusion seemed to concern his ability to move through iron chains. Cassandra, however, wasn't having any truck with any of this. She just glowered at him like he were some seedy salesman who'd wandered in off the street. 

"And who are we looking for, precisely?" She asked peevishly, her frustration lingering. 

An hourglass, ancient and weathered, appeared in Death's other hand. It didn't coalesce and there was certainly nothing magical about it, it just simply Was. In a way, it had always been there, even though it wasn't technically there now. He didn't explain what it was or why the sand was stopped, clogged up with red and black shapes at the base of its bulb, but he did turn the hourglass to reveal the engraved plate on the front of it. It had been defaced, just slightly, with a permanent marker. 

Unfortunately, since ancient Tevene was a language that mixed archaic lettering with late hieroglyphics, it was impossible for most people to decipher. Leliana, fortunately, was not most people. She peered at it and her mouth moved slightly as she strained to read the writing. The actual engraving said: Sethius Amladaris, but the graffiti....

"I--" Leliana paused and her expression became both skeptical and confused. It couldn't be. One of the letters that comprised the name Sethius was Head, next to the others it meant Mind, but the pictorial drawn over the other letters was definitely not a hieroglyph. She looked back up at Death, half disbelieving and half certain she had to be reading it wrong. 

" _Dickhead?_ "

Death's countenance and the gravity he exuded did not falter. In a voice that sounded like Times New Roman chiseled into solid marble, Death replied, simply:

**Hᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ.**


End file.
